


To Burn

by Serendipity_Stupidity



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Kingsman: The Golden Circle Spoilers, M/M, Pining Harry Hart, but mostly suffering, im so sorry guys, ohh lord the angst, there's fluff too, this is just suffering tbh, this isn't even a fix-it im just making it fucking worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 13:33:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12607756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipity_Stupidity/pseuds/Serendipity_Stupidity
Summary: It had been 3 days since Harry Hart had regained his memories, and he was already lying through his teeth.





	To Burn

**Author's Note:**

> “To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.”
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> ― Federico García Lorca

It had been 3 days since Harry Hart had regained his memories, and he was already lying through his teeth. Such was the life of a spy.

 

_/Never experienced companionship/_ he’d said, and the pang in his chest said _/Merlin/_.

 

Next he’d said _/Never been in love/_ , and the thing is, he couldn’t even look at Eggsy as he says it. He could lie his way out of a Russian arms deal, but this? This had him flinching, looking away from his eyes as if he were a child avoiding the all-knowing gaze of their mother.

 

_/Never been in love/_. Pah.

 

He’d never been so in love in all his life.

 

But, still. That wasn’t the worst lie he’d told that evening. Oh, not by a long shot.

 

In comparison, professing to having never been in love felt like a slip of the tongue, a mere white lie that’s swallowed up in the deep black sea of mendacity the likes of which he’d never seen before.

 

That is, to say, the fabrication that upon taking a bullet to the skull, his last thought had been white noise.

 

_/Absolutely nothing/_ he’d said. As if _/absolutely nothing/_ was synonymous with ** _/Eggsy, Eggsy, EggsyEggsyEggsy -/_**. As if his last thought hadn’t been of their fight, as if he hadn’t wanted to bite off his own tongue at the fact that his last words to the boy had been in anger and not something softer. As if he wouldn’t have given anything to have one more image of him before everything blacked out, instead of the handful of memories his jolted mind had scraped together in offering - as if to say _/here, this is all we have/_.

 

He’d been planning to tell him, that was the thing. That was the kicker, if he were being truly honest with himself. Harry Hart had had his fair share of kicks to the ribs over the years but hearing Eggsy talk about this girl who’d supposedly broken his heart - well. He’d have taken the bruises over that any day.

 

And now, after everything, he was standing at the altar giving him away. To his left was the Swedish aristocracy and to the right there was Eggsy’s entourage, but there was a noticeable gap in the pews and in Harry’s chest and God, now he was about to lose Eggsy too. As if the once hadn't been quite enough.

 

He tells himself it’s for the best, as he looks straight ahead, passed the bride. How anyone was so enamoured by her when she was stood next to Eggsy was beyond him. It was like settling a little moon next to the blazing sun.

 

She was a dull thing, all in all, but Harry supposed that was his bitterness talking. She had the same blasé, practiced intrigue that all the aristocratic people had. It was just all that money shining through their teeth that made them look so dazzling. It was a shine that had been bought, Harry thought to himself, whilst what Eggsy had was inborn. Some inner light that crackled and sparked from the second he’d took his first breath. This was a light that manifested itself in everything he did, and Harry knows if he reached out, his palms would be singed.

 

_/To burn with desire and keep quiet about it/,_ Harry thinks to himself, a touch forlorn, and watches on as Eggsy slips the golden band onto her ring finger.

 

It’s for the best, he tells himself once more, during the afterparty. Eggsy was far too young and bright a thing to be tied to someone like him. He never would have even let himself have the thought of wanting someone nearly half his age, but staring death in the face and taking a step backwards did all sorts of things to a man.

 

His first thought when he’d remembered who he was had been _/Eggsy/_ , and his second had been _/I’ll tell him/_. Now, Harry was quite certain he’d never tell another soul for as long as he lived.

 

Which was a shame, really, because Harry was also quite certain that he’d never love another like this for as long as he lived, either.

 

He was looking out into the throngs of merry people, all drunk on the merriment and of course, the champagne, and spots Eggsy’s face, alight in laughter, surrounded by friends. Which is, of course, the exact moment Eggsy spots him back, and the smile slips from his face in increments, in drips.

 

Harry barely registers turning to leave before he finds himself already in the lobby, making haste towards the double doors.

 

“Harry!”

 

He could just keep going, honestly. He could just coast through those doors and not look back until the hotel was in his rearview mirror, but, alas, his treacherous feet had already ceased to move.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

When he turns, he really wished he hadn’t. The look of growing betrayal on Eggsy’s face is a little too heavy-handed for his fragile state right now.

 

“Just to get some fresh air,” He tells him, forcefully chipper. “All that champagne was beginning to get to me.”

 

Eggsy's expression tells him he isn’t buying it.

 

“What’s with that face?” Eggsy asks, and takes a step towards him, to which Harry instinctively takes a step back.

 

“Eggsy, I have over a thousand identities in this country alone, to which face are you referring?”

 

Eggsy levels him a look, one that tells Harry that neither his step back nor his pithy comment was going to get passed overlooked. Eggsy takes another step, and Harry forces himself to stay rooted when he takes another. He presses the back of his warm knuckles to Harry’s cold cheek.

 

“You look like you’re going to cry, Harry,” Eggsy tells him, and Harry feels like he’s being burned alive.

 

Gently, he takes his hand away with his own. He doesn’t let go of it when he builds the courage to look him in the eye.

 

“It’s the champagne,” He forces himself to say, just to see if he was still capable of lying to him.

 

He watches helplessly as his lie gets dissolved in Eggsy’s eyes like salt in warm water, just like he knew it would. There’s an intuitiveness there, and Harry thinks, _/he knows/_.

 

Of course he knows. He probably knew before Harry did.

 

And then, Eggsy it going up on the tips of his toes to wrap his arms around him, engulfing Harry in flames.

 

“In another life,” Eggsy is saying, as Harry’s eyes swim with tears, finally, finally, “I would have been with you.”

 

He says it like a promise, like a statement of utter truth. Like there was no doubt in his mind that in some distant plane of existence, they’d met under different circumstances, maybe at more palatable ages, and something in their mirror selves had locked into place. Something that wouldn’t, couldn’t fit together, in this universe.

 

The breath Harry draws is a ragged one.

 

“In every life but this one,” Harry tells him, and there’s no doubt in it, nothing beyond crystal clarity and certainty, that something he feels this strongly spans lifetimes, spans through the dimensions of time and space, past the reach of death.

 

“In every life but this one,” Eggsy repeats in agreement, as if it were a vow, and then he’s pulling away, and Harry is losing his warmth. Eggsy cups his cool cheek in his palm, presses a small, white-hot kiss to the corner of his mouth. Harry feels like he's been branded.

 

“I loved you, Harry.”

 

/past participle tense-/

 

“And I, you, Eggsy,” Harry says, because that’s about all he can bare to say.

 

There’s a mutinous glint in Eggsy’s eyes when he smiles up at him. “You know that’s avoiding it.”

 

He indulges him in a small smile of his own. “I’m a Kingsman, Eggsy. Avoiding things is my speciality,” He links his arm with Eggsy’s, content to chaperone him back to the party. “Much like how you specialise in avoiding the brides parents.”

 

Eggsy groans at that.

 

“They have it out for me, Harry,” He complains, every bit the petulant child even in his bespoke attire. “I give it a week before one of them attempts treason.”

 

“If we’re putting money on it, I’d wager you won’t make it to the honeymoon.”

 

“Well, that’s just great. I’ll be dead _and_ broke,” Eggsy laments, and Harry chuckles under his breath. Eggsy catches his smile out of the corner of his eye, and carefully jostles him with his elbow. “You know, I could set you up with some right proper bird. Or bloke. I bet there’s plenty of Swedish Dukes that would fall all over themselves for a hot little dish like you.”

 

“Eggsy,” Harry chastises, closing his eyes against the oncoming headache. “I think I could have gone my entire life without hearing someone refer to me as a - ‘hot little dish’.”

 

Eggsy can’t help but snort at the way Harry says it. “Just warming you up to their way of flirting. I overheard Tilde’s great-aunt calling you that earlier.”

 

Harry replies with, “I think I’d honestly rather die alone,” in a deadpan voice, and Eggsy’s laughter is worth it, even at his expense.

 

They bicker good-naturedly back and forth like this until they come to the glass French doors leading into the ballroom. Their pace had be practically glacial, but Harry finds himself wishing they had taken the time to linger on their footsteps a little longer at the sight of it. Eggsy seems to sense this, for his hand hesitates above the door handle before he lets it fall to his side, turning to face Harry.

 

They regard each other, not saying much of anything, and when Eggsy’s eyes flicker down to Harry’s lips, Harry is certain he is going to kiss him.

 

Instead, he says, “Must I really go back in there?”

 

Eggsy’s eyes flicker back up to meet his gaze, and his cheeks flush, knowing he’d been caught staring. His smile is sheepish when he replies, “Only if you love me.”

 

The words echo around his head, a taunt, an invocation, an ultimatum.

 

When Harry leans in, Eggsy’s eyes flutter closed, his lips part damningly, and Harry’s hand finds the door handle behind him.

 

He opens the door, and Eggsy’s eyes open with it, his face close to his own but not close enough. Harry’s smile is a small, sad thing when he tells him,

 

“I do.”

 

Eggsy’s face shutters, as if he were about to cry, so Harry looks passed him, over his shoulder, feeling their presence beginning to gather attention. Tilde paints a streak of white across the crowds royal colours when Harry lays eyes on her.

 

When Eggsy turns to face the crowd, he had composed himself, like Harry knew he would. Eggsy straightens out his uniform, brushing his fingers over the emblazoned medals, and when his eyes meet Tilde’s across the room, they light up and Harry thinks -

 

_/You used to look at me like that/._

 

And then Eggsy is walking across the ballroom floor, parting the crowd like the red sea, and Harry is following behind, because he does, and he always will.

 

_/Only if you love me/_ Harry thinks, and the wound in his skull gives a dull ache.

 

**_/I do, I do, I do/._ **

**Author's Note:**

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> No ill words against Tilde please, she is an angel! I just had to make Harry a salty bitch. I'm honestly so sorry guys, I don't know what to say.


End file.
